


the wind calls your name, your lips

by lazy_kitkat



Series: unoffical mcyt gods au [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Minecraft Youtubers (Video Blogging RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Deity Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Domestic Fluff, Dreams, Established Relationship, Intimacy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sequel, Sharing Clothes, Sleeping Together, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_kitkat/pseuds/lazy_kitkat
Summary: (Sequel)“North told me to come,” He whispers when a serenity washes over them, “Can I make it better?”“Stupid North,” Dream murmurs, “You being here is enough.”“Is it?”“George,” Gold eyes lock onto him sharply, that it startles him for a bit, “You’re always enough. More than that.”(In which George is a rain god who wants to spend every second under the stars with the wind god Dream.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: unoffical mcyt gods au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019989
Comments: 65
Kudos: 763





	the wind calls your name, your lips

**Author's Note:**

> Quick reminder, if Dream Team or anyone in my fics express that fanfiction makes them uncomfortable and they’d rather it not be published, I will take this down.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy~

_The Sandman’s coming in his train of cars,_

The gods never intended for humans to learn how to fly.

There was no taboo that chained the mortals with their feet on the ground and there was no miscalculation by the gods. The skies and heavens beyond it had merely been a home for the divinity, an untouched haven which ascended far after the edge of the world as a blind storyteller spun it’s existence into the fairy tales and little rhymes that they told children. No one expected the day the humans trapped themselves into a metal box and soared above the clouds, no one expected a poor canine to be sent to the moon. But they didn’t say anything about it, why would they? Idle deities of centuries found their boredoms chased away by the mortals as the fickle things made music sing out of little boxes, round circles which ticked in sync with every breath of the time god and controlled lightning in smaller sparks to heat up water.

They supposed they had the wind god to thank. No one bothers to learn exactly how he does it but the boy with stardust on his cheeks sends his winds every night to sleeping ears, whispering impossible fantasies which with the right minds, turn into a surreal reality. The gods learn that the mortals made small nets of cotton thread to catch his delusions, the whispers of the winds. They learn that the mortals give these maddening thoughts a name. A name for the song that comes to you at night, a story rising from an ocean of nonsense. They make a reality of it with a word and-

It surprises none of them when the wind god is renamed ‘Dream’.

_With moonbeam windows and wheel of stars,_

He’s not good at not being lost.

It’s ironic with his four winds being named after the cardinal directions: north, east, south and west, but none of them following their roles. East has sent him tumbling in Antarctica too many times for him to really be bothered anymore and when North and South get bored, they play tennis with him as the ball between the two poles. They’re free after all, no amount of chains can ever reign them in, no deafening voice can dictate what they can do. Maybe that’s why the wind god doesn’t bother to stop them, they are alike in that sense. 

But it doesn’t particularly help when he’s lost, stuck in the middle of nowhere with no sense of getting back.

But back where?

When hearts grow lost, they try to go back somewhere- retracing their steps to their missing half, to the place they call home. The wind god doesn’t have a place to go back, doesn’t have someone to welcome him home. He’s been lost for too long to remember if he ever did, he’s grown too used to it to want to belong. It’s not that bad, it’s fun to just drift through time sometimes and not know where you’re going. It’s worked so far and he hopes-

Actually, he’s not sure what he hopes for anymore.

_So, hush you little ones and have no fear,_

The wind god is the only god who still visits the stars.

The others have forgotten how to, it’s been so long, but he hasn’t. He closes his eyes, whistling quietly to his winds, as they pick him up- up into the sky till he’s among the stars. They are lonely, there are so many of them all together you wouldn’t expect so, but they have some of the loneliest songs the god has ever heard. He listens, his winds catching their tears of stardust as they cry to him of the stories they could have told, the legends they could have been. He doesn’t let a single speck fall and wither away, each one was a tale too good to be lost. Sometimes the stardust stains his cheeks, in a way which the other gods dismiss as freckles, and no matter how much he tries, he can’t wash it off. He doesn’t mind, not really, and as the winds carry him back down to the earth, they take the stardust with them. 

The stardust, he learns, is special. When he tells the winds to sprinkle the dust onto the sleeping hearts which lay under the night sky, the stardust takes shape- animated and almost alive as it plays out like a movie, whatever story the star who had shed the dust had said. Sometimes it doesn’t tell the story of the stars and instead the mortal chooses their own story-dream they want for the night. The wind god has watched thousands of dreams, the knights and dragons of little boys, the intimacy of an unrequited lover, the monsters of a tortured woman. Some of the dreams are reality coming back to taunt while others are a pure fantasy that teases them into a desire for a new world. It’s terrible on some nights, he thinks but he’s never seen anything more beautiful on the other nights.

It looks a bit like sand, at least that’s what the few mortals who see the stardust say- those ones call him the sandman.

_The man in the moon, he is the engineer._

~

It’s raining in Barcelona.

George can’t help but feel slightly remorseful for the people who run past him and under shelters to hide from the rain they didn’t pray for. He didn’t mean to let his rains pour down and he forgets how much of a bother they are for people who aren’t as used to them as him, for people who aren’t constantly armed with an umbrella. He marches through the draining pavements, his yellow raincoat and matching gumboots making him a sore sight to eyes which linger too long, and he twirls his umbrella above him. Cheerful reds and cream clays darken under slate clouds, something almost morbid washing over the buildings. It was like a painter’s palette, being ruined by an unhealthy amount of black paint as it twisted the homely apartments into something colder. But even in the rain, there’s an excited chatter which lurks on the sidewalk and the lively growls of motors which line up and sing in the streets. It makes the rain god smile slightly, to see the city still breathing as dark skies try to drown it.

He whistles quietly, notes which only his rains will understand as he tells them that they had only two hours to finish their temper tantrum. They whine, pouring harder in retaliation, but he knows they’ll listen as he strolls aimlessly past small shops that sell a bit of everything, marked by percentages and dollars. There’s a bakery on his left which makes him feel a little emptier and up ahead he can see one of those over-priced gift shops which sold the oversized shirts with the neon words, ‘I WENT TO BARCELONA”. 

The rain god halts in his casual pace as a florist runs out of her shop, chasing after some thieving child, shaking her head and turning back. He turns, admiring the small blooms of different colours and seeds on display, and his fingers play gently with the petals. They’re yellow he thinks, they could very well be any other colour on the spectrum as the stem is a murky gold to him. Dream had told him that the leaves and stalks of plants were the colour green- something he doesn’t think he’s ever seen. When he had asked the wind god to describe what green looked like, the other had smiled, dimples and all, and shrugged as he pointed at his own eyes, the ones that the rain man loses himself in too often. 

He walks away, humming to himself mindlessly as he tries to forget the wind god. It’s difficult to forget Dream- not when his hands remember the way other’s calloused hands laced around his own, not when his ears prick for the silvery decibels that sing free, not when his lips recall how they fit perfectly against the other’s chapped lips. It’s annoying, once he let’s Dream in, he can’t seem to get rid of him and he’s not sure if he wants to anyway. 

Speaking of the wind god, George wonders where the other lingers in the city. He knows the other is here, the winds had been pulling him here with childish giggles and he’d be lying if he didn’t say that he missed him. Rain isn’t supposed to come to Barcelona, not right now when the contract he has with the patron spirit says otherwise. He might get a scolding, maybe but he’ll be gone by then- maybe in Brazil or perhaps up north with the snow.

There’s a bookstore, quiet and kind, as it stood with warm lights and welcoming doors. There’s nothing special about it, at least he doesn’t think so, but he can hear the northern winds usher him towards it as East and South flip the pages of the books that were out on display, now soaking in the rain. He chides them softly even though he knows they have no interest in listening to him and pushes against the front door of the shop. The bell rings as he steps in, leaving his rains to mingle with the winds and he realises he’s not alone in the shop.

“George,” He’s a bit ashamed of how his heart stutters as he turns a little too fast, “Thought you were too good for books.” 

It’s been a very long three months since he’s last seen Dream, longer than any three months he can remember living. The Red Moon Festival feels a bit like a faded memory but the night under the moon when it was just _them_ away from the rest of the world, has etched itself onto his mind. He wonders if they were cowards, for not looking for each other faster, for not trying to come home to each other sooner. But like a fool, he blames it on the nature of their circumstances- one a wind god who is everywhere at once and himself the rain god- answering to the prayers who need him and even the ones who don’t. George thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe for a moment as the other patiently waits, quiet amusement in the gold eyes he misses and a trace of a smile on star-dusted cheeks. He thinks he’s forgotten how beautiful the other is.

“Dream,” He tries to compose himself to not look as much of the lovesick idiot which he so painfully is, “I thought we’ve moved on from the discussion of the rain and paper. The synergy simply isn’t there.”

“That’s a big word for you,” The taller god laughs, picking up one of the many books that lay on the shelves closest to him. Their eyes don’t need to meet, not when they’re both aware of the giddy smile on the other and how their cheeks are flushed even though the rain brought in a chill. His rains prance in the damp streets outside, and he thinks he can hear Dream’s winds cackle as they rattle the doorknob of the shop. 

“What brings you here?” George is quiet, hands in the pockets of his yellow raincoat, as the other flips through the page of some book.

“I don’t know, why are you here?” The blonde starts, “I was told the next four days would be sunny skies and lovely weather.”

“The rain is perfectly lovely.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

By the way his ears turn red and how he can feel golden eyes focus on him with a quiet fondness too great for words, he doesn’t think Dream is talking about the weather. Silvery decibels huff with affection and the wind god comes closer to cup George’s faces tenderly as fingers speckled with stardust tilt his chin upwards so their eyes face each other directly. The rain god takes this chance to search the other’s face, wanting to run his hands along the scar along the other’s neck, play with the stray curls of dirty blonde and maybe kiss chapped lips till the taller god’s cheeks were left permanently flushed.

“Hi.” Dream sounds almost as breathless as George.

“Hello,” He mumbles as he leans into Dream’s warm touch, loving the way calloused fingers send statics to his heart.

He doesn’t lean forward and press their mouths together, he isn’t here for that. Instead, he rests his forehead against the wind god’s broad chest and pulls the other closer by wrapping his arms around his upper waist. He just wants to relish in the fact that Dream is here with him and isn’t going anywhere just yet. He just wants it to be the two of them just a little longer before they both lose themselves in the rain and wind for who knows how long. The next time they meet it might be a tornado or a flood, a sunny meadow or perhaps the snow. It could be in a day or a week, a few months or a year. He doesn’t know, no one really knows but he holds out hope that they’ll find each other again somehow- they have centuries to do so. But for now, there’s no point worrying about all that, not when Dream rests his chin on George’s head and holds him tighter as he might disappear. Two gods, one of the winds, another of the rain- standing alone in a bookstore as if there were no other place they would rather be.

It’s raining in Barcelona. 

It isn’t supposed to.

~

“Oh look, it’s Georgie.”

The rain god does not want to turn around.

There’s no danger, the winds warming to the most horrid British accent he’s ever had the misfortune to listen to and circling around them as if forcing them to interact. He hates the winds, the way North cackles and West howls with laughter, he hates them with nearly all his might but he thinks he hates the obnoxious grin plastered on the face of his unwelcome companion more. Not an ounce of subtlety as small flames which remind George of will o’wisps, seem to circle the other who’s dressed in mortal clothes which borderline scream arrogant arsehole. He ignores the wave of resigned weariness that washes over him, fingers curling around the hilt of his umbrella in case he feels the urge to well, stab shit.

“Sapnap.” He is not enjoying this at all, “Go away.”

The other’s face splits into a grin, beaming insufferably bright that the rain god supposes that his fellow immortal does live up to his title as the light god. Leading souls where they needed to be and sometimes where they didn’t want to be-all with the flick of a hand as fleets of lanterns came to life and lit the paths to guide the lost as if they were stars. The mortals paint him to be Hermes and George would agree if Sapnap was even half as clever-witted or lovely as the ancient Greeks sculpted him as.

“I just wanted to spend quality time with my favourite ray of sunshine.” He tilts his head to the side, humming gently with a skip in his step, “Shame it’s raining.”

Sapnap bends down, attempting to take shelter under the rain god’s umbrella, letting out a petulant whine when George stepped away in time. The shorter god rolled his eyes, twirling his trademark accessory as small raindrops flick the light god’s face. The only appropriate response to the indignant expression on the other is to laugh and he thinks he quite enjoys laughing at the expense of Sapnap. It only gets better when he whispers to his rains to pour down a little harder.

“You are such a bully.” The rain god wonders if there’s a way to drown someone in the rain, “Can’t believe Dream wants to kiss you like all the time.”

The mere mention of the wind god does one of two things, make the winds restless as they dance through the poor mortals that were out during the afternoon and make George feel a bit light-headed.

“There’s a reason why he’s kissing me and not you.” He snaps haughtily when he catches the light god watching him with a quiet amusement and wonders why he hasn’t left yet.

He still doesn’t linger around with other gods all too much now, not even after whatever special thing he has with Dream happened. He’s been alone for centuries before all this and he’s used to listening to only his own heartbeat and the rains. No matter how pretty Dream looks when he comes around, it’s not going to force him to actually talk with the only other people as old as himself. He thought the feeling had been mutual and as he looks at the idiot before him, he wishes for the umpteenth time that he was in the right.

Sapnap, he’s not sure if the other is persistent or stupid, seems to be determined that George wants to be friends- wants to complete the triangle which is connected through Dream. There’s Bad as well, who is at least tolerable with his kind smiles and reassuring words, as he tries to help the rain god accustom to people in general. 

“S’ppose so,” The other clicks his tongue, “C’mon, you owe me a burger.”

“What- I do not,” He scoffs but Sapnap is already pulling at his arm, “How did you even get to that conclusion?”

“I’m soaked.” For dramatic effect, the rains are harsher, “Because of you. The least you could do is buy me something at Whataburger.”

“We’re in London. They don’t have Whataburger.”

The light god looks heartbroken, face falling in a way which almost makes George feel bad and well- it does. The rain god never has seemed to say no to the other, as vexing as he is. He hadn’t said no when Sapnap dragged him to the bottom of the Bermuda triangle nor did he say no when they threw watermelons at the sun. Now that he thinks about it, he should probably learn how to- for his own safety at least if not the universe’s wellbeing. 

“Mcdonalds,” He says and when it doesn’t do anything, he hesitates, “We’ll get Dream to pay.”

“We’re gods, we don’t need to pay.” 

He’s not sure if the other is actually upset, he hopes not. He’s not good at this comforting thing, he can’t handle Dream sometimes. He’s tried practising with South who is probably the kindest of the winds (just barely) but it’s usually Bad who’s in charge of the whole consolation process. He’s learnt that he’s not the only one who so terribly sucks at it and that reassures him a bit. Instead, he pats the light god, albeit a bit awkwardly, on the head and huffs when the other looks at him incredulously.

“Whatever you’re doing please stop.”

“I’m trying okay, you’re uglier when you’re frowning.”

“I-let’s just go to Mcdonalds.” Sapnap grumbles as he looks away but the rain god thinks it’s fond, “Oi, East. Tell Dream there’s an emergency. About lil Georgie here.”

“This is called lying,” He chides quietly and the other grins wickedly as they start to walk past the crowds of London to a big glowing yellow ‘M’ which he knows is in the area. They argue for a bit, they seem to be very good at arguing with each other but the rain god thinks it’s because he’s realised that he doesn’t like how empty silence feels in such a big city any more than the other does.

“It’ll make him get here faster and don’t you dare tell me that you don’t want to see him again as soon as possible.”

George has to shrug.

~

He’s not sure where he is right now but he knows for a fact it doesn’t snow in Australia- already eliminating one of the seven continents. 

It’s day, the sun up at her highest as cascades of soft gold create kaleidoscopes on the frost which grew on the city walls. Corners which were usually sharp and rigid, grey and dark, are now decorated by the white flakes, each with its own story as festive as it could be, and filled in small cracks and dents of the pavement. He wonders if he could catch a few, his rains enjoy the snow on an off-day. He brushes off the snow on his yellow raincoat, watching it fall sporadically onto the ground and sighs, his warm exhale extinguishing to what children called dragon breath.

He doesn’t recognise the buildings, the people or the quiet hum of noon. His rains are busy in the Amazon, he hates the heat, so he decided to take a wander by himself. But now he was lost and that- that was a bit annoying, especially when his rains are too far away to be of any help. 

He plays with his fingers nervously- it’s not a big deal when he knows that his rains will come to find him once they're done. This has happened before and he knows it’ll happen again, the gods are very good at being lost. But there’s a restlessness in the bottom of his stomach which gnaws at him, telling him to go look for something- go talk to something. He thinks that the buildings around him seem to twist into something demented, the faces of mortals painting themselves as otherworldly- unnerving in a way that most definitely does not help. He doesn’t like it and he knows it’s the paranoia crawling on his spine but he wants to get out and leave. 

Then there’s the rustle of the wind.

“East?” He calls out loud and an angry huff plays with the snow by his feet, “Sorry- West?”

They trill, slightly satisfied and swirl in soft breezes around the hand he has out, nipping at the fingertips. They’re waiting for him to speak and he realises that they came for him. He wonders about what the winds want to hear, what he wants to say. He’s not exactly sure what to do, twirling around the hilt of his umbrella in quiet contemplation.

“Can you-” He starts, looking up to see West drop a pile of snow on an unsuspecting couple, “Can you take me home?”

Something in the air stills and George is worried that he asked for the wrong thing. He doesn’t even know what he means by homes and the winds’ guess is as good as his. Before he can take back what he says, he’s up in the air- the winds singing almost gleefully.

“What are you doing-” He screeches, high above the clouds and it’s a bit hard to breathe. West isn’t gentle, cackling as they dragged him through lovely blue, pigments fading into yellows than oranges than pink. Under his feet that flailed around helplessly, cities turned to fields to oceans and back to cities. His ears hurt slightly at the high speeds they were travelling through and he could wave the sun goodnight as the moon woke in a horizon which he swore he had passed hundred times already. 

Everything stops all of a sudden and he thinks he’s falling.

His heart might jump out and he’s never trusting the winds again. He can’t scream, lungs too frozen to work, mind too shocked to remember he has to breathe. The air around him turns cold to warm and this has to be the worst way for a god to die. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He’s panting when something catches him like a baseball in a glove and gently put his feet on the ground, “Why would you do that-”

No one answers him.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes so the rest of the world doesn’t look so dizzy, and lets his hands try to smooth down the mess of his hair. The safety of the concrete under his feet, standing firm when he presses against it, lulls him into this comfort which makes him never want to move. The world starts to still, slowly coming back into focus as he takes notice of the night sky that runs away. The buildings are of a different breed, different design and they cower under the severity of dark masses and fireflies frozen in gas and space. The town is asleep, deep in slumber with every light off, even the street lamps and he hears nothing.

_Look carefully._

George hears a voice, distorted and sung with whistles. He thinks it belongs to the winds so he looks a bit higher and time stops.

Painting the lovely canvas, dipped in the black silks that remind him of an abyss, of a void, he sees sand. The sand is gold, glowing in the dark and streaking the sky like a story on a blank page. He squints a bit closer, noticing how the sand takes form- multiple forms. There are fish, bigger than whales, which dance in the sky and there are spirits who climbed out the windows of the mortals who were asleep. It shimmers in a way which tears do in the moonlight, shines in the way which lights up the world and calls for him in a way which feels like home.

“George?” 

The rain god turns and almost doesn’t recognise the silvery decibels which he’s learnt are music he never wants to stop listening to. Dream, sitting cross-legged on what seemed like a cloud of the sand, is wearing a mask to decorate his face and floating up in the air. His robes are white and gold and the mask is cold, maybe made of a ceramic born from the bottom of volcanoes and then moulded into the pretentious theatre masks. He looks- divine. He's gorgeous as ever, tan skin illuminated by the floating sand and golden curls dancing in the wind. 

“Your freckles,” George murmurs as the wind god lends out an arm to lift him onto the platform of mist and sand, “I miss them.”

He thinks Dream is blushing, he’s good a making the other’s cheeks go warm. The rain god smiles, dipping his head slightly so his forehead rested against broader shoulders. The other is warm and flushes, snaking stronger arms around his waist and smiles.

“What are you doing here?” There’s no breath tickling his ear and George starts to not like the mask.

“I wanted to come home,” He says and he loves the way Dream holds him tighter and both their hearts stop beating for a moment, “And now I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” The wind god says lowly and he almost doesn’t catch it but the winds seem to be on his side right now, “Everything feels dizzy when you’re not here.”

George doesn’t really know what to say to that, he’s never been good with words. But he feels warmer, something in his chest blossoming into what he thinks the mortals called butterflies. He thinks they’re wrong, butterflies are gentle- gentle kisses promising change. But he- he feels like a storm when he’s without Dream and the eye of the hurricane with him. Here, under the stars, he thinks he can keep loving Dream till the end of time and a hundred eternities later. Here, in the quiet shelter of a slumbering night, he thinks they’ll fit no matter how much his rains erode the edges of his heart, no matter how much the other’s winds weather his own pounding heartbeat. They’ll fit because they’ll change with time but for each other- the winds and rains dancing together and lost in an eternal song.

“What’s this for?” He asks, playing with the edges of Dream’s mask.

“Work,” The wind god replies and George thinks he’s smiling under the ceramic. He misses the other’s smile, he wants to see it again.

“This late? The sun’s already gone to bed,” He clicks his tongue, “What’s all this sand?”

“Stardust,” Dream laughs sheepishly when the rain god glares at him for being terrible with his answers, “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Work?” George hums, running his thumb along the other’s jawline and then down to his Adam's apples. He wonders if the wind god feels the same way whenever their skin brushes against each other. He wonders if he’s the only one who feels like he’s melting when they’re bodies are pressed together like this and he wonders if he’s the only one who never wants to let go. It’s a bit hard to read what Dream is thinking, with the mask and all but he doesn’t press it. The way he can hear the other’s heartbeat forgetting the next note of its song when he laces their fingers together is enough. He presses his lips against fingers dusted by stardust, smiling slightly when the wind god tries to pull him a little closer.

“Dreams,” Silvery decibels seem to forget how to speak and manage just barely, “I haven’t watched them in a while.”

“You act as if I know what you’re talking about.”

“You act as if I know what I’m talking about,” He laughs, “They make dreams. The stardust. Here-”

Dream flicks his hand and a ball of the golden sand swirls around George, taking a step back in the process.

“They’re like shooting stars.” The shorter god says mindlessly, letting the dust run through his fingers like ashes in the wind, “How lovely.”

“Make a wish.”

He looks up to Dream, confused, but gives in when he makes no move to expand: “I don’t waste my wishes on just anyone.”

He stares at Dream, defiant of sorts. It’s a challenge, maybe or perhaps it’s just another way he stalls time so he’s with Dream a little longer. He spends too many seconds away from the other and too few in his embrace. He needs this to last a little longer, he needs the other want this to last a little longer too.

“Just tonight.” The wind god leans in closer and George wants to wipe off the smirk he knows is on the other, “Just tonight, waste them on me.”

His cheeks flush but the other god doesn’t move. He supposes they’re staring at each other- green lost in hazel, hazel lost in green, but the mask is in the way. It doesn’t matter, not when Dream is so honest with him and leaves words like that out in the open, making the world brighter and his heart twist.

“Waste them on you,” He echoes, eyes pulling away from the god and onto the ball of gold and stardust, “I wish-”

“Not out loud, you idiot-” The other sounds fond, “Then they don’t come true.”

He grumbles and the wind god huffs out a low chuckle. George thinks to himself, carefully pondering over what he wants, what he needs. He can’t think of anything- eyes constantly wandering to Dream’s proud figure. He already has what he wants- he doesn’t think he needs anything else. He hasn’t ever bothered with wishes- not before he met Dream. Coins in a fountain, stars trying to run away from endless darkness or even four-leaf clovers- none of that ever interested him. Even now where he wants and wants for the person who owns the skies and a world above, wants a person who is already his and is willing to shower him in stardust and wishes, he doesn’t know what to do with it all.

_Waste them on me._

He smiles to himself, he supposes he could do that. He wishes something under his breath, quiet and soft- only being heard by the winds and then-

Then the stardust sings to life what the heart wants most.

~

“Patches, careful now,” George chides softly when the small kitten plays with the tapestries on the walls, on her hind legs so her padded feet could reach, “I’m sure that ugly thing is expensive somehow.”

The cat whines at him, falling down reluctantly and pawing at his feet like a child. It’s a bit warm in the temple, ornate with golds and greens so his raincoat and gumboots feel a bit redundant. He doesn’t have anything else to wear but that’s not really a concern of high worry to him- not when he’s trying to find the owner of the temple with too many rooms and walls for just one god and cat.

“Baby, do you know where he is?” He asks but doesn’t mind when Patches blinks at him and saunters down the hall. He’s not in a hurry to find Dream- not when the other has a better chance of finding him first. He plays with the hilt of his umbrella, wandering aimlessly around the countless hallways and not bothering to remember which way he went. The different paintings on the walls seem to grow lost in the intricate jewellery that adorns the walls. 

The winds find him first.

“Hello, all four of you here? Together?” Bells and whistles chirp in response- playing with the chimes which he knows Dream left out for them, “I wonder how this place isn’t up in the sky already.”

They play with his hair and he chides them softly. He follows them for a bit, listening to them all bicker with each other, nipping at each other’s trails with both howls and whistles. It’s nice- this place feels nice. His rains linger outside the temple, letting tears fall without restraint. The leaves in the pavilion outside seem a little greener and the petals a little brighter. The winds lead him into another room, one with a familiar god lying on the floor. He slips off his raincoat, leaving it on the head of a chair, complaining about the heat when Dream asks him why.

“What’s got the sleeping beauty awake for so long?” He changes the subject as the other stands to join him.

“You,” Dream laughs, loud and bright as George scoffs, “I can’t go sleep.”

The gods don’t need to sleep, deep slumber doing nothing but refresh them, but even if they didn’t- it didn’t mean that they shouldn’t. The dark bags under gold eyes have only grown worse since the last time the rain god has seen the other and it’s worrying. He wants to ask, George isn’t blind- he’s noticed how the other avoids falling asleep. He thinks the mortals call it insomnia but he’s not sure.

“Idiot,” He says, cupping Dream’s face and rubbing soft circles under his jawline, “You should get some rest.”

“Maybe I will,” The wind god mutters, leaning closer, “Now that you’re here.”

“Oh?”

“Sleeping beauty needs someone to wake him up,” The other holds onto him a little tighter, “Kiss me good morning.”

George laughs as the blonde curls rest on his shoulders. He hears the other yawn, playing with golden locks absentmindedly and hums to a song he doesn’t know the name of. He wonders how long the other god has been awake for- he wonders what keeps him awake. Nightmares perhaps- he wants to ask of what but that might be asking for too much. The god of dreams and winds- surely he dreamt of things unimaginable to anyone else.

“North told me to come,” He whispers when a serenity washes over them, “Can I make it better?”

“Stupid North,” Dream murmurs, “You being here is enough.”

“Is it?”

“George,” Gold eyes lock onto him sharply, that it startles him for a bit, “You’re always enough. More than that.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t like it when he doesn’t know what words Dream needs to hear, “You’re more than enough too.”

“I’m- wait what are you doing?”

George blinks, snapping back into reality as his fingers curl around fabric he doesn’t remember picking up. He unfolds it- it’s a hoodie, one of the few mortal clothes which the wind god owns and it’s most definitely too big for the rain god.

“I’m cold.” 

“I thought you took off your raincoat because you were hot- don’t you dare make that joke.” Dream looks flustered when George opens his mouth and the rain god thinks he likes the other like this.

“I’m cold now, can I wear this?” Dream splutters and George takes it as a yes, slipping it on. It’s a bit annoying- the way it slips off his shoulders and he feels like he’s swimming in Dream. Actually no- he likes that part, it’s warm and when he presses the side of his cheeks against the hoodie, realising it’s softer than most things he’s ever worn. He tries to roll up the sleeves which slip past his fingertips but they keep falling down so he gives in and lets his fingers curl into a small ball. The wind god’s eyes haven’t left him and he supposes he knows a few reasons why. 

He steps forward, taking one of the other’s hands and pressing it flat against his own. Dream’s hands are bigger, more calloused than George’s own hands. He thinks the other asks him what he’s doing but he’s too distracted with the feel of the other’s hands to pay attention. They’re warm against his skin and he likes how his hands are smaller than the other, he likes the way that he doesn’t just fit Dream like a perfect half, but he could drown in him too.

“You’re so much bigger,” He murmurs, lacing their fingertips together and watches them curl in together.

“You’re just small.” He hears the other say breathlessly.

“I like it,” George smiles, pulling the hand closer to kiss the wind’s gods knuckles like he had that one night in a storm of stardust, “I like it a lot.”

“I like it too,” Dream says quietly and he sounds meek and shy. It’s cute, the way he draws back sometimes because the rain god can be a bit too brash. They both are a bit too much for each other at times but that’s alright- they have eternities to work it out.

“Lie down with me,” he pulls Dream to the array of silk cushions and feather-soft mattresses, “Standing all the time is exhausting.”

Silver decibels laugh in his ears, sounding slightly delighted with him, and they both fall onto the lounge by each other. He doesn’t know if he’s taking it too far when he presses his face against Dream’s neck but he thinks he’s fine when the other readjusts them both for comfort. It’s quiet in the room and he likes how he can hear another heartbeat play along with his own. He likes how they sound together, how they play off each other. Dream traces small circles on the side of his hip and George raises his eyebrows when the other taps his thigh three times.

Dream shakes his head with a smile that makes George’s heart drop painted on his face. He has small dimples decorating tan skin and stardust freckles and the rain god stutters when golden eyes crinkle in fond amusement.

“The mortals say ‘I love you’ in a thousand languages,” Dream says, tapping the side of his leg again three times shyly, “I think this is a thing they do.”

The rain god smiles, leaning over so close that their breaths mingle together. He kisses Dream on the cheek. 

“Then we better-” 

Then another on the other cheek, just as fleeting.

“Start learning-” 

Then one last one on the tip of his nose and watches Dream’s blush spread like wildfire..

“Them all.” 

~

“I like the sound of rain.”

George hums, eyes focusing in the lens of a telescope, and twists a few knobs and rings so he can see more. They’re hidden among mortals today, Dream not dressed in the ridiculous toga which his winds force upon him and the rain god without an umbrella or raincoat. It’s unusual, he’s not used to playing human and it’s hard not to call out for his rains on instinct but the wind god is comfort among a sea of unfamiliar faces. 

“It reminds me of you.”

“I’d hope it does unless there’s another rain god?” He teases, stepping away so Dream can take a look through the telescope. He’s careful not to bump into anyone- he doesn’t like crowds. They’re loud and busy- sounds screaming at him from every direction that if he strays too far- he could get lost.

“No, just the one.” Gold eyes flicker at them- before moving the telescope so it pointed at George, “Hello, beautiful.”

“Dork.” He rolls his eyes, silvery decibels laughing free and clear as they take his hand and pull him to another exhibit, one with fake stars on the ceiling and all the different planets. It’s dark, but the small lights which mimic the night sky are bright enough for him not to squint. People are watching them again- he’s not sure why but no one is screaming in agony or pointing guns at them so they should be fine. He looks over himself in one of the mirrored walls and then drinks in the sight of Dream who winks at him when he notices.

“Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” George raises his eyebrows when the wind god twirls him around for no reason.

“Freedom,” The other smiles, longer arms pulling him closer, “No longer are the days where society needs shoes.”

“Everyone is watching,” He murmurs and the wind god merely grins.

“They’re not, not really.” Dream closes his eyes, resting his forehead against George.

“Shut up and watch.”

The lights on the ceiling begin to move, projectors creating a dance of shattered spectrums and swirling around like a kaleidoscope in orbit. It’s pretty, not as lovely as the real night sky but for mortals, it’s the closest thing they’ll ever come to when trying to catch the stars. Their fascination with space and an entire world they can not touch- the bright minds and vivid ambitions which paint their history always were of interest to George.

“Do you think they’ll make it?” he starts and when Dream hums, “Do you think they’ll ever make it to the stars?”

“They made it to the moon,” He hears, “Maybe.”

“I’ve never visited the stars myself,” George twists and plays with the strand of the hoodie he’s wearing, “What are they like?”

“Shiny,” The other mutters, going quiet as the rain god rolls his eyes. He leans back against a wall and distracts himself with the exhibit. The two of them linger at the back of the crown, a little world away from the bright lights and fanciful displays. The other isn’t watching the show, gold eyes on the rain god instead.

“What?”

Dream doesn’t say anything, a thoughtful- maybe shy expression on his face. His fingers seem to twist each other nervously, something he only ever does when he’s lost in thought. Gold eyes are glazed over but trained on George who waits patiently for the wind god to come down from his own thoughts. The exhibit ends and the other god is still silent, the rest of their tour group walking away and leaving them alone in the room.

“Dream? We should get going-”

“I want to take you to the stars.”

He falters in his step and focuses on the wind god. The idea had come out of nowhere, he’s not sure how he’s supposed to react. The stars- it feels like a foreign world which even the gods can not enter. 

“Can I? Take you to the stars?”

Gold eyes are burning, determination dipped in hope like gasoline, and his heart stutters. It makes him curious, for something more than just Dream, for something beyond earth. Up among tiny lights older than time, older than him- he watches the features of the other carefully, drinking in how stubbornness decorates tan skin.

“How much does this mean to you?” George mumbles, looking away when the other’s eyes light up and smiles under his breath.

“A lot.” The wind god admits and it’s enough for George as he laces their fingers together.

“Go on then, take us away.”

Dream is a lot subtler than George is with his divinity. He thinks it’s because the wind sings itself into everyday life, fading into the background that no one gives it a second thought. No door can keep out the wind- letting them run free indoors on a summer’s day or even watching them with the green branches of trees above. 

“Close your eyes.” The other is grinning.

He does as he’s told, willed darkness greeting him kindly as a familiar warmth pulls him closer. He feels safe here, in the other’s arms and it’s nice. The winds around them stir a little, picking up speed with every breath he exhales and he can feel himself feel a little light-headed. He leans closer when he feels dizzy, desperate to hold tight onto something real when everything starts to fade into nothing and nothing becomes everything.

His lungs start to stop working- or they don’t need to work. There’s no floor for his feet to ground themselves on and there’s no temperature for him to complain about. The air- or matter that seems to consume them from all sides and as his feet dangles around purposelessly. There’s no pull clawing him down to safety, no chain to bring him back to reality. He only has Dream, the only thing familiar in this unfamiliar world that should have been home and he tightens his hold on the other.

“Don’t let go,” The wind god whispers in his ear, “You might drift away.”

“You’d find me again,” He replies as Dream untangles them away from each other except for their hands.

“Yeah, I would,” Silvery decibels smile, “You can open your eyes now. Say hi.”

What greets him, leaves him in a blinding void of pitch black. It’s so dark that for a moment, George can’t believe his eyes are open. Then slowly his eyes weather to a night sky which has never been so close and moulds so he can make out bright lights which hover near him. His ears take a moment to catch up as well- the deadly silence of before fading as the mourning grief and joyous welcome of countless stars greet him.

“Hello,” The stars seem to laugh, voices that could be as beautiful as sirens and silkened gold singing together as they greeted him. They’re loud- he didn’t expect the stars to be so loud, not when he was so used to the tranquillity of an evening’s night. He supposes being miles away from the rest of the world- floating away until they looked as small as fireflies would leave them muted to even divine ears. 

“How are the winds here?” George could hear North singing in his right lobe while the other three weaved through the stars- gathering with them stray stardust which follows them like a comet’s tail, “How are we here? Alive?” 

“I dunno,” Dream plays with the swirls of gold sand which run circles around his wrists, “Here, have a go.”

South and East come forth, dancing around him like a storm as he’s surrounded by the ashes of fallen stars, young and old. He smiles at their playfulness, raising his hand hesitantly and putting it in the trajectory of one small comet trail. The dust breathes, falling apart and then coming together in the shape of a scorpion. It scampers up George’s wrist, tail curling around his skin and he never realised how foreign the dust felt- a thousand heartbeats with each grain of salt.

“I didn’t wish for anything.” He looks up to Dream who plays dodge and bolt with the scorpion, retracting his hand just in time before it stung him.

“Scorpio,” The wind god shrugs, “Happy birthday?”

“Idiot,” He mumbles, flicking the arachnid in the head and watching it fade away like dust in the wind before swirling into a clock that didn’t tick, “What’s yours?”

The winds go quiet and the stars stop singing. He’s said something wrong, it’s painted so painstakingly clear on the other’s face. Gold eyes darken and look away, even the stardust dims and grows dull. He joins their hands and rubs his thumbs in the palm of the other’s hand before lacing them together, trying to promise that the wind god doesn’t need to answer to anything.

“It doesn’t work,” Silvery decibels, not sad but rather defeated in a way George doesn’t like, “The stardust doesn’t work for me. I’ve tried it.”

“Why?” He watches as blonde curls dip down.

“I guess I ran out of wishes.” Dream distracts himself with another swirl of dust which doesn't materialize into something more but instead curls against his wrist, “I don’t dream.”

“Dream doesn’t dream?”

“Don’t.” The other huffs fondly, eyes warm before sobering and then looking up, “It’s dark sometimes.” 

“Dark? The night is always dark.”

Dream doesn’t say anything and the stars start singing again. The winds start to dance again, this time to something sadder- melancholy in a way which makes him want for something he’s never had. It’s just two of them right now but George isn’t sure if the other was really here, beside him. Not when he looks a little haunted by the golden lights and constellations that came to life around them.

“Dream?”

“It’s empty. When I’m asleep,” Silence breaks reluctantly after a moment, “I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to be. I hate it.”

“No, I don’t think that’s how it is,” He murmurs and Dream frowns.

“Do you see me? In your dreams?”

“I- why do you ask?” His cheeks flush and he plays with his fingers.

“I want to see you.” The wind god, bending backwards and letting himself float aimlessly, “I want to see you in mine.”

“You have the real thing, why do you need to dream about me?”

“It would be better then. You always make things better.”

George thinks the other god needs to stop saying things like this- stop saying things where his heart forgets to breathe and he doesn’t know what to do.

“I see you. A lot,” Dream’s eyes light up and the shorter god stutters, “It makes me miss you a lot.”

“I miss you all the time. It hurts when you’re not here.”

He watches Dream and wonders how many sleepless nights he’s drowned himself in. He wonders how he could have missed it, the gentle uneasiness which settles on his face when he falls asleep, how he can never let go of his consciousness with George there to ease him into a slumber. It might not be as big of a deal as he’s making it out to be- gods have roamed the universe to learn not to let these things bother him. But under the serenading light of the stars and the forlorn gold which made up the eyes and always looked a little lost- the rain god wonders how much Dream wants and can never seize.

_I guess I ran out of wishes._

Then, when the other isn’t watching, he pockets a handful or three of stardust.

~

He takes Dream to the moon.

It’s not spontaneous- that’s not George. He isn’t like Dream or Sapnap who take each step more precarious than the last, he’s not like them when they live life at a roll of dice. No, this took more than a day to ponder over, more than a week to even consider such an idea and even when they’re here, feet floating barely over grey craters- he has no idea what he’s doing. Usually, he likes having every detail planned, things seem to just run so much smoother with everything figured out but this is just an idea stuck, itching for him to do something, anything.

“What are we doing here?” Dream follows behind him and the rain god thinks it’s a bit concerning how the other’s bewilderment mirrors on his own face. 

“Too many questions,” George murmured, “I don’t even know where we’re having lunch.”

The wind god laughs, lacing their hands together and pulling him closer, “I’m curious now. It’s not every day the rains visit the moon.”

“The mortals are going to lose their shit.”

“Are they?”

George hums, letting go of Dream and then taking a step back- as much of a step as low gravity would let him. They stand over a crater, bigger than the streets of houses, and it’s colder than he expected it to be. The sky is just as dark as it was at night the other took him to see the stars and he likes the parallels that are growing. He feels light, dragging the wind god down to the bottom of the crater effortlessly- the blonde twirling them around to cushion their fall.

“There are clouds above us,” The wind god looks up to rain clouds shimmering in streaks of gold, “They look different.”

“They do.”

“And we’re on the moon,” 

“We are.” 

“Alone,” Dream presses the palm of his hand against George’s.

“Together,” The rain god wants to kiss him, “Any other questions?”

The other shakes his head, a fond smile adorning his face and gestures for him to do whatever he needs to be done. George whistles- it’s a bit harder to up here but it echoes up into the weak atmosphere. The rains rumbled in response, swirling around in masses of slate like it was trying to get used to the matter it swam in. The winds seem to try and help, letting the clouds spread over the crater and it looks a bit like a storm.

Then it rains gold.

It’s almost like snow, falling gently like feathers as the stardust wavers- almost hesitant to pour down. The winds swirl around the brim of the crater, a wall that stops anything from leaving and soft enough to not tear apart the rains. Dream looks up, eyes wide as the dust fall and linger on his cheeks. As it comes down, it falls into heaps of sand by their feet- the same way snow does on a winter’s day, the same way ash does when the world burns and the same way the waves surrender to dunes of sand.

“Make a wish,” Gold eyes lock with his own and George watches how the wind god’s features frown, “Hurry.”

“I told you it doesn’t work.” His voice is meek and quiet, “The dust only works for those who dream. I don’t.”

Dream steps back slightly- shoulders raising to make himself look smaller. He looks sad again, George doesn’t like it but he knows how gods work when something doesn’t work just right. They accept it as a way of how things should be, no matter how much it pulls apart at something in them- no matter how numb and cold it makes them. Like how he spent centuries alone with his rains, alone with only his own voice- like how Dream doesn’t seem to take the step forward and want. South seems to be as exhausted as he is, leaving the other winds for a moment before pushing Dream forward again.

“You said you didn’t have any wishes left,”

“I did.”

George hums, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck, “And I have mine all saved up. Every shooting star, every little dandelion. Dream-”

He’s taller than Dream right now- floating in nothing because that’s how the moon works. He takes the collar of the wind god’s hoodie- curling his hands in the cloth and pulling up the other closer till their noses are touching. His gaze flickers to the wind god’s parted mouth chapped and dusted with specks of gold- running his thumb along his bottom lip.

“Let me waste them on you.”

He presses their lips together softly, his eyes fluttering shut. It’s fleeting, he leaves as fast as he comes and when he leans back- they stare at each for a moment. Dream looks a little lost, a smile breaking out as dimples grow freckled skin. The rain god wants to kiss him again. 

“Whales then.” Their lips are only a bit apart, “Whales in the sky.”

“And?”

“Upside down houses. An ocean, on the moon. Talking books-”

“One at a time, you idiot,” George laughs as the other holds onto his waist, “One by one- we’ll make it all come true.”

“One by one,” Dream murmurs and George kisses him again. Longer this time, hungrier. Their bodies are pressed against each other. It’s not like in the books- where everything is burning, burning, burning. No, it feels like he’s coming home- like this is all he ever needs to be. Their mouths fit with each other as if they’ve spent every single century looking for each other, missing a second half. They break apart, both a bit out of breath and George thinks everything is worth it when silver decibels look up and laugh in pure delight at the flying whales of golden sand above them.

_All my wishes, let me waste them on you._

**Author's Note:**

> YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I'VE MISSED YOU GUYS.
> 
> PSDIJLKXC- exam period + slump, holy cows I was so worried I'd never post to ya'll again but here you go- the rain god sequel that I was talking about in August. I got the idea of Sandman!Dream two weeks ago and tried so hard to get through this slump and finally- this week I finished it. Imma try get back in the swing of these this month but also there's fanart for this fic- one which an incredible artist did when the prequel was first posted [Rain god art](https://bpzau-d-r-a-w-s.tumblr.com/post/626378321228365824/doodle-of-gogy-based-on-a-fic-that-made-me-really) & and now- my irl drew the last scene [sequel art](https://yourlazykitkat.tumblr.com/post/635199248651223040/art-done-by-irl-sketchynovice-for-the-rain-god). Check them out and give them some attention, they're incredible. <3  
> if u want to- don't forget to user subscribe, it's free and you can always unsubscribe later <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/yourlazykitkat) & [tumblr](https://yourlazykitkat.tumblr.com/)
> 
> xoxo winter


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